Who Needs Superman When I Have You?
by XxLunaticPsychoxX
Summary: America x Reader. You were just enjoying another lonely night in your house, when everything just goes wrong, and you're not alone anymore. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

The rain drops pounded your face as you ran, your bare feet bloody from the coarse pavement. Somewhere between the 24-hour convenience store and the movie theater a block away you stepped on broken glass and scraped your left knee from falling. But there's no time to worry about that now. Your heart is racing, beating so quickly you think it might burst at any moment. You turned your head, and saw the crazed man with a pistol in his hand bounding after you.

"Leave me alone!" you cried as you sprinted in the darkness of the night, the man closely tailing you.

Ten minutes ago you were sitting on the comfortable couch in your house that you inherited from your parents before they both died from cancer. You lazily lied on the couch watching a horror movie, planning on sleeping there. Your hot chocolate had gone cold; the box of chocolate chip cookies was nearly depleted. You were into the movie, watching in suspense. The main character in the movie had locked herself in her house, trying to protect herself from the monster. You, a horror expert, knew this was a terrible idea, and yelled at the television.

"Get out of there, you twit! If he gets inside, you'll have trouble unlocking the door, and he'll get you!" you shouted. Later, just as you predicted, the girl heard a noise, walked toward it, and saw the monster outside a window. She screamed. The atrocious monster crashed through the window. Right at that moment, your front door burst open, making you whip your head around. A tall, burly man in black rushed in, carrying a large bag and a gun. You ducked on the couch, but it was too late. He had already caught sight of you.

He stomped toward you, and you leaped off the couch and threw your thick glass mug with a tiger design of (now cold) hot chocolate at his head. To your surprise, you didn't miss, and hit him square in the eye, causing him to curse and stumble. But, you broke your favorite mug.

"Fucking bitch!" he yelled, covering his right eye with his gun hand. He ripped his ski mask off to relieve his face from the glass, but then his eyes widened in shock, realizing you now know what he looks like. He fired his gun three times, missing you. You were a fast moving target. As you sprinted out of the living room you picked up random objects and threw them at the burglar. Some made contact, others did not. He ran after you, blocking his face to prevent it from getting hit again. You made a sharp turn out the front door, nearly falling down the concrete steps. The burly man stumbled after you, about six feet separating you from potential death. You zigzagged as you ran, knowing it will make it more difficult to shoot you.

Usually you aren't the best at running, but adrenaline took over the second you stepped outside. You ran blind, not caring where you went, as long as you escaped. You heard the man running after you. Determined to kill you. Your fear had escalated; your breaths were short and rapid. You ran as fast as your feet could carry you. The concrete and asphalt you had been sprinting on started to rub your feet raw. You were cold, your pajama shorts and tank top soaked from the heavy rain. The cold drops stung your skin.

It was near the end of June. The air was warm, but the rain was freezing. You turned a corner, and a sharp pain shot through your right foot, causing you to fall. You regained your footing and ran, every step feeling like fire. The street lamps were dim, a few broken, hindering your vision along with the tears and rain in your eyes. You tried screaming for help, but no sound came out. No one knew you were in peril, and it wasn't likely they'd find out.

You were running out of energy. The adrenaline was wearing off. Yet you pushed yourself further. There was no way you were going to die this young. You just graduated and were looking for a job. As you ran your breathing shortened. You turned your head and saw the crazed man just a few feet behind you. You ran past shops and restaurants, but none of them were open. The ones that had lights on were closing up and no one was paying attention to the activity going on outside the buildings' walls. Your legs felt like jelly, and your mind was getting hazy from the loss of blood and heavy breathing. You skidded around a corner of a brick building and stopped in disbelief.

It was a dead end. There was no escape. You turned around and there he was. The large man blocked your only exit. And he was ready to kill you. The pain in your foot intensified, the glass submerged deeper into your raw flesh. You staggered to the back of the alley, your back to the wall. Tears had stained your cheeks and your eyes were red. You didn't want to accept your fate, but there was nothing you could do. He had you at gunpoint. All the previous movement finally got the better of your legs, and they gave way, your back scraping against the brick wall as you slid to the ground. You covered your eyes, hoping that when you opened them everything would be back to normal. You heard screaming. It was you.

"Click!" you hear the man cock his gun. You knew what was going to happen next. There was a sharp pain in your lip, and you realized you were biting down on it, and you made it bleed. Even though it hurt a lot, you couldn't stop. Your body was acting on its own now. You heard his faint chuckle over the heavy downpour. Then a gunshot. Then silence. "What is this?" you ask yourself, "Am I dead?" You open your eyes and see a body on the ground in a puddle of blood. The man who tried to kill you. There was a sense of relief, but then you noticed the dark silhouette behind the body, also holding a gun. The silhouette slowly walked toward you. You must have been holding your breath, because your chest and head were throbbing. The intense situation made you go into shock, and you blacked out.


	2. Chapter 2

The air was warm. Something soft touched your face. Slowly, you fully regained consciousness and opened your swollen eyes. There was intense throbbing in the back of your skull, though it was not unbearable.

With you peripheral vision, you saw a fluffy white mound, the top of it gradually rising and descending again. "_What happened?_" you wondered.

Staring at the ceiling, you laid there contemplating your location. The ceiling fan rotated lethargically, creating a weak draft within the room. As it spun, the fan hummed a soft, peaceful buzz. You closed your eyes and listened, trying to remember what all happened the previous night. After what seemed like an eternity it hit you. The memories rushed back through your mind; your vision blurred.

Running… Running from a man with a gun. You were bleeding… You sat up in the mysterious, soft bed. The comforter was a dark navy blue. You ripped it off of your body and examined your lower half. Bandages. Your knee had a large band-aid, and your foot that had glass lodged in it was clad with clean, white bandages.

A soft meow resonated throughout the room. Looking down next to you, you see what had been next to your face. A cat. A big, white fluffy cat. Your movement alerted him.

He gazed up at you, his blue eyes staring into your _ ones. The cat had brown fur acting as a collar and light brown markings drooping under his eyes. It appeared as if he were wearing glasses. He slightly wagged his brown bushy tail, still staring at you. You smiled and pet him, playing with the strange lock of fur standing erect from the top of his head. He purred and nuzzled into your palm.

You sat there for a moment petting the cat, listening to the hum of the fan. The large cat found his way into your lap and fell asleep. You listened to the sounds of the room. Still just the fan and the overweight cat in your lap. You listened harder. There was water running somewhere.

You could faintly hear it. You rolled the cat off your lap, and he meowed in protest. Your legs were sore. Your ribs were sore. Hell. Your whole damn body was sore. As you moved pain surged through you, although it was not too intense. Placing your feet on the ground, you winced, the pressure on your wounded foot painful.

Trying your best to ignore the pain, you limped your way to the door, holding onto the various pieces of furniture as you went to keep the least amount of pressure on your foot. Every step on the wine-stained wood floor sent waves of pain. When you got to the door, you opened it and poked your head out. The water was still running. Your mind was clouded with thoughts of who it could be.

"That's right!" you whispered to no one, "That guy…"

You limped down the hall, leaning on the wall for support. You kept your eyes on the door at the end of the hall. If that was your captor inside you might have a chance to escape. Keeping your eyes on the white door, you slipped into the living room, being as quiet as possible.

The living room was messier than expected. It would be a beautiful room, that is, if videogames and movies weren't cluttering the mahogany coffee table and the floor around it. Soda cans of different varieties sat on the wood floor, some half-filled, others completely empty and tipped over. This guy was obviously a slob.

The room intrigued you. Just your surroundings told you a brief description of what your captor is like. Examining the cases on the ground, you could see your captor was very interested in horror movies, action/adventure games, etc. There was a headset on the couch, labeled "XBOX LIVE." He must be pretty competitive, with that combo of things. And that also means he may be violent. Probably it's for the best if you get out while the opportunity's still open.

Holding your breath, you tiptoed past the couch and located the large front door. Seeing the door brought small, joyful tears to your eyes. You were almost free.

You limped faster, trying to reach your freedom. Suddenly you lost your footing, and fell. Trying to stop yourself from face-planting, you grabbed the lamp next to the couch, to no prevail. You collided with the floor, the lamp falling on top of you with a large crash.

The lamp shade was broken and bent, with pieces of the broken bulb scattered around your already injured body. Almost simultaneously, you heard the bathroom door burst open, the handle smashing into the sheetrock wall. Your heart pounded in fear; a lump formed in your throat. Heavy footsteps smacked against the wood flooring, growing louder as your captor neared. He turned the corner and stood, staring at you. Your eyes widened in shock.

* * *

Good lord this chapter's an eyesore and unbelievably short. Sorry everyone, I am a fail. The next chapter will be better though! (I hope.) I'll at least make it longer!


	3. Chapter 3

This man… he was gorgeous. He was dripping wet and simply holding his soaked towel to cover his vital regions, completely naked. "Are you okay?!" he suddenly asked, but it didn't click. You were dumbstruck. Your eyes involuntarily looked him up and down, following the small streams of water spilling off of his toned body like little rivers. Drops fell from the tips of his short blonde hair, collecting in a pool at his feet.

You unconsciously cocked your head slightly, looking at the strange lock of hear not being weighed down by any water. It stood erect, curving somewhat. You could hear words being said, but you weren't listening. Your eyes molested the man's figure one more time before they met with his own. For a fleeting moment you stared into his dark blue orbs, reading their concerned, shocked expression.

What was he concerned about?

"Hey! Are. You. Okay?!" the words pierced your eardrum, you finally snapped back to reality. Realizing what you did, your heart stopped. Your face grew hot and flushed. You immediately looked away. You were in a room with a naked man. A _wet,_ naked stranger. And yet you just nearly mentally raped him.

"I-I'm fine!" you manage to sputter. It took several moments for you to clear your mind and gather those two words.

"Are you sure? Your foot didn't get any more injured, did it? That'd suck."

"I'm fine…" your voice starts to give out. Your heart was in your throat.

"Stay. Right there. Don't move. I'll help you in a minute!" the man said, running out of the room, almost slipping, as the water reduced friction beneath his feet.

"_He has a nice ass. Wait. What the hell am I thinking?! Pull yourself together!"_ you mentally slap yourself. You couldn't help it. You had been alone for so long… But for a good reason, too.

Your last boyfriend had tried to rape you after two years of what seemed like a great relationship. Luckily the landlady had been on her way to speak with him about payments. She heard your screams and unlocked the door, and then she came in and beat his ass with her trusty baseball bat. You vowed to stay out of relationships for a long time, and you can't trust the male population very easily anymore. There was no way you were going to stay put. You know nothing about this gorgeous man.

You scramble to your knees, and pull yourself to your feet by using the arm of the couch for support. Putting little pressure on your bandaged foot, you quickly limp over to the front door. You grasp the door knob, and see it's locked. Turning the deadbolt, you heard the loud grinding sound it made.

So did that man. You hear a muffled voice that sounded like "wait," but you ignored it. You swung open the door and the knob smacked against the wall, the lock making a small indention. Feet slapped against the wood floor, coming toward you. You limped-ran outside, off the porch and into the front lawn. But suddenly you were stopped. Arms were wrapped around your waist and your back was pressed against something firm. You yelped as you were swept off your feet and were held bridal-style.

"What're you doing? I told you to wait!" you were brought inside without a struggle. You knew it was pointless. If you even succeeded in escaping his grasp you wouldn't be able to get more than a few feet away before you were grabbed again. The man shut the door with his bare foot, walked over to the couch and cleared a space off, then gently set you down. You tried to protest, but your words were left unheard. The man crouched before you. He wore glasses now. They looked nice on him.

"Hey, are you deaf or something? Unnecessary movement will only worsen your wounds. It's actually time to change the dressing, anyway."

"Why in the world would I stay put? You kidnapped me and I don't know who you even are or where I am!" you shouted, jerking away from the blonde.

"Kidnap you? Why I did no such thing! I am, in fact, your hero! You should be praising me, not yelling at my helpful touch!" he retorted.

"If you didn't kidnap me, then why the hell am I not in my own home, instead of in a stranger's house with said stranger half-naked before me?" you barked.

"Well excuse me, but if I didn't take you from that alley and kill that guy, you'd probably be dead yourself right now. We've been trying to catch that guy for like, ever. You're welcome for saving your life and tending to your wounds… And I'm only wearing shorts because you tried running off!"

He had a point. If he hadn't come into the picture, you would undoubtedly be on the pavement with bullet holes in your chest lying in your own blood. "But," you started, "how did you even know I needed help?"

"I was waiting in the pizza parlor for my order, and I saw you run past the window with that bastard, Johnson, chasing after you like a lion. So I ran outside and followed you. I left my pizza in the name of justice! Then, being sneaky, I quietly hurried around the corner where you turned. I saw you, the damsel in distress, in peril, and I knew I had to act quickly or it'd be too late. So I whipped out my pistol off my belt, and BAM! I saved the day! Just like a hero should!" he made a fake gun with his hand, acting out the shooting part with an infantile grin on his face. He seemed to be really enjoying explaining his heroic deed. You don't want to, but you feel the desire to thank him in some way for saving your life. "And then I was like, 'I gotta get her to somewhere safe.' So I thought, 'what's a safer place other than my own?'" _"The hospital? My own home?"_ you thought. "And then I brought out here and washed off all the blood and fixed your foot and stuff. I even put you in my bed so you'd be all comfy. I slept on the couch, so don't worry. I'm not a pervert like France or Prussia," he laughed.

France? Prussia? The hell is he talking about? "Anyways, I patiently waited for you to wake up later last night, but you were _out_. I tried talking to you, shaking you awake, but nothing happened. So I ordered a pizza to replace the one I left, and I ate it on the couch and-"

"_Please_ spare me every single detail. All I wanted to know is how you knew I was in danger. Thanks anyway. Really. I do appreciate it. But I would like to go home now," You cut him off.

"There's _no_ way I'm letting you go home so soon!" he said in a serious tone.

"Uh… Why not?" you ask nervously, his attitude change slightly unnerving.

"Because Johnson's got men all over the place! They most likely know where your house is; Johnson always plans his hits out. No doubting they were everywhere, watching him chase you until I got there to save the day. Besides, you can't even walk. Until all this calms down I think it's safest for you to stay here under my watch."

You're silent for a few moments. You didn't want to agree, but you knew he was right. You still don't trust him one bit. But surely it won't hurt if you stay there for a little while? You can just keep an eye on this guy to be safe. Yea, that sounds alright.

"Fine…" you muttered, "but I don't even know your name, so don't expect me to be your friend or whatever."

"Oh!" he slapped his forehead, "How can I forget? My name is Alfred F. Jones, America, or simply, "The Hero." What's your name?"

"… I'm calling you Alfred. And my name is _. Let me apologize up front; I may or may not be rude to you at times. I just… I have trust issues and have trouble coping with it. So don't get the wrong idea or anything."

"Nah, it's fine. I understand completely. Just like, make yourself at home while you're here," he flashed a charming smile. His happy behavior was kind of getting on your nerves. He's already acting like your best friend.

"But, if I'm going to stay here, I'm going to need a few things from my home."

"Uh… That kind of defeats the purpose of you staying here to avoid your house. What do you need so badly?" he asked, cocking his head.

"There are quite a few things I need. Such as clothes, my toothbrush, my dog…"

"I'll just buy you a new toothbrush to use and a few articles of clothing. And your dog? … I guess we don't have a choice. We can take a quick stop by your house for no more than ten minutes, understand? Utilize that time to gather everything you think you'll need for your stay here," he sighed, then stood up.

"Great. Now when can we go? I'm really uncomfortable being dressed the way I am in front of you. I feel like you're mentally undressing me."

"Ah, don't treat me like I'm a creep. I promise I'm not like that. We can go after breakfast. I'm starved!" he pouted, but didn't seem too upset at your comment.

"Okay," you hesitated, "You want me to cook something? It's the least I can do to thank you for stopping that guy from blowing my brains out last night."

"Sounds great, as long as you don't make English food!" he hastily picked you up and carried you to the kitchen. Gently setting you back onto the floor, he spoke, "You sure your foot won't bother you too much? I mean, I won't mind getting cereal or microwaving a Hot Pocket or something."

"I'll be fine," you assured him.

"If you say so. I'm going to get back in the shower. My hair's still kinda soapy." And with that he was gone.

You grabbed a pan from the hanging pot rack and turned on the gas burner. The kitchen was nice. The counters were marble and the colors harmonized with the colors of the wooden cabinets. The room was decorated with black appliances of the highest quality.

Thankfully, the kitchen was clean. Really, the only mess you saw in the house was that around the couch in the living room. There weren't even any cups in the sink. You opened the refrigerator and poked your head in. This thing was nearly depleted of any food to cook with. You grabbed a pack of ground sausage and four eggs- the last of them.

By the time you got back to the range the pan was hot enough. You started browning the meat and set the eggs aside. To add a little flavor, you looked in cabinets for spices or herbs- anything to give the sausage more flavor. Unfortunately there were only a few things in the cabinets. So you decided to go with the chili powder. The only thing is, it was on the highest shelf, out of your reach. Carefully you climbed onto the counter and grabbed it, and, slowly but surely, climbed back down.

You infused the powder with the meat and stirred it all as it finished browning. You turned the burner down. You searched the cabinets for bowls and grabbed one from the bottom shelf. One by one you cracked the eggs into the bowl. After you washed your hands you found a fork in a drawer and beat the eggs until it was a creamy yellow mixture with air bubbles.

You poured it in and put the bowl and fork in the deep metal sink. You scrambled the eggs with the sausage and looked once more in cabinets until you found tortillas. You warmed a few up and started making breakfast burritos. The burner off and the food prepared and set aside, you grabbed the chili powder off of the counter and climbed up to put it back in its rightful place. Carefully you stood on your knees and opened the cabinet, holding onto one of the shelves for support. You had almost put the chili powder back when-

"Smells good, _!" a loud voice chimed. You were startled and lost your balance. Gravity took over, and pain shot through your right arm.

* * *

Yay, I got this one done in school! They had my class sit in a room for _four_ hours so we could write a 300 word essay over where we see ourselves in five years. All of us finished it in fifteen minutes. It was awfully boring. Anyway, this chapter initially was going to be longer, but it didn't flow very well in one spot, so I broke it up there. That will be the beginning of chapter four. Please tell me what you think so I can better my suckish writing!


	4. Chapter 4

"Fuck!" you yelled and sat up, holding your elbow. You couldn't move your forearm. "Fucking fuckety, fuck, fuck!"

"Shit, _! Are you okay?! I'm sorry!" Alfred said.

"Yeah, my arm just _naturally bends backwards_ all the fucking time! No! I'm not fucking okay!" you turned to him as you yelled, and your broken arm bent backwards swiftly. "Shit!" This fucking hurt.

"Stay calm! I'll take you to the hospital!" He swept you up into his strong arms and was ready to bolt out the door until he spotted the plate of breakfast burritos. He stood staring at it for a few long moments while his stomach growled.

"Just grab the fucking plate and go! My arm's broken!" you yelled.

Alfred held you with his left arm and grabbed the plate with his right. Then he hurried out the door with his keys. He opened the car door and set you inside, then quickly walked around to the driver's side, and put the pedal to the metal. He did not bother to buckle, but you did not hesitate to buckle when he started driving erratically. Keeping his eyes on the road, he reached over to the plate of burritos he set on the center console, grabbed one, and began scarfing it down. As soon as that one disappeared, the others gradually did, as well. You didn't swipe one for yourself; you were in too much pain to be hungry.

* * *

One hospital trip later, you and Alfred were on your way to your house. You felt much better, now that your bones were back in their proper place. The damn cast was what bothered you, though. It was so annoying.

"I'm really sorry, _. I swear it was an accident," the blonde said, driving much more safely.

"Dude, quit apologizing. I know you didn't mean to do it. Shit happens. And with my luck, it was inevitable. It would have happened tomorrow, if not today."

"Why do you say that?" he inquired.

"I have terrible luck. Always have. This past course of events doesn't surprise me one bit."

"I'm sorry, _. That must really suck."

You remained silent and stared out the window. You didn't really like thinking about your luck. It seemed like it was always against you. An imaginary obstacle you could never overcome. It also made your mood drop down to depressing. One thought led to another, and before you knew it, you were thinking about your parents. Your mother was a naturally nice lady, and your father a kind man. While they were both alive, the three of you had a great family relationship. Everything was wonderful.

Your mother was walking, before she knelt down and grasped her knee. Sick with worry, as this had happened numerous times before, you asked what was wrong. You received the same answer: Nothing. Days went by, each day the pain in your mother's knee getting worse, and various other joints beginning to ache. You gave her pain medication, not knowing it was more than muscle aching; it was bone. The two of you continued on with your lives, ignoring the fact your mother was suffering immensely. You watched those sappy reality shows together, leaning on her, when you noticed a hard bump beneath her skin. The following morning you drove her to the clinic to be thoroughly examined. The doctor at the clinic did multiple tests, and briefly afterward had the answer. She was diagnosed with metastatic bone cancer. Your mother had not long to live.

Your mother refused to see you when you wanted to visit the hospital. She told your father to tell you, _"I want her to remember me smiling and healthy. Let that happy memory of me live on."_

Your father wouldn't allow you to see her, executing her words. Your cheeks stained with tears, you isolated yourself in your room for days on end. All you wanted was to tell her how much you loved her. To hold her one last time, for you knew it was the end. Out of sadness and anger, you yelled at your father, telling him how much you hated him for keeping you from the one that bore you and gave you life, when hers was about to expire. It just wasn't fair. He couldn't bring himself to tell you that your mother was the one who didn't want you to visit. He understood your anger. He was in fact in even more pain than you were in. That was the woman he loved for years and raised a family with.

Weeks went by, and you were still deprived of seeing your dear mother. You were struck with worry, and when you spoke to your father, he ignored your questions. He didn't even acknowledge them. Then one day you came home from school and checked the mail, finding a letter addressed to your family. Seeing you were involved, you hastily went inside and opened it, not caring your father wasn't home at the time. The letter was filled with condolences from an insurance agency your mother had signed up with. The letter expressed their heartfelt sympathy for your family's loss, and that they were grief-stricken as well. The bottom of the letter read "_Rest in Peace_" with your mother's name and a date. The date was from two weeks before. Your father never told you.

Angrily you waited for him to arrive, sobbing the entire time. The moment he walked through the door you got up and punched him in the chest, shouting inaudible words in between your sobs. He knew you had found out the hard way, and told you he didn't know how to tell you. Tears welled up in his eyes, and the two of you mourned over the death of your mother together. You held a funeral for your mother, and tried to go on without her.

Just when you started to get over her death, your father had an accident doing something as simple as reaching up to get a book off of the bookshelf, making his shoulder fracture. The hospital did some tests, and sure enough, he was diagnosed with the same bone cancer as your mother had suffered from. Your father was able to stay out longer than your mother had; he had gotten diagnosed in time for therapy. You spent every day with him as if it were both of your last days, and grew much closer than what you were. About a year later, your father passed away on the hospital bed in your arms. After that you were left alone. You inherited all of their belongings, from the house to your mother's old bike from the sixties with the old-fashioned horn and sea-foam green paint job.

* * *

The memories wildly clashing in your brain made small tears brim your eyes. One dripped down in a slow and steady stream down your cheek and off of your chin, plopping onto the leather interior of the door in a perfect circle. You sniffed and sucked back in the rest of the tears for your past, and watched the familiar trees swiftly fly past your window. The motion of the trees and houses slowed and the vehicle pulled into your driveway cautiously. What was in reality a half-hour drive went by in mere moments while you were consumed by memories. The car came to a stop. You turned to the blonde, who looked concerned. Your eyes were glassy.

"Are you okay, _?" he asked softly.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine."

Alfred turned off the engine and stepped out of the overly large vehicle, then walked around to your side and opened the door. He had chivalry, at least. Grabbing your arm he helped you out of the car. His grip was firm; it almost hurt. The two of you walked up to the porch, and you saw the door was shut. Did that guy shut it when he started chasing you? You grabbed the knob and jiggled it. Locked.

"I have to go next door. Mrs. Vangeller has a spare key," you sighed. The two of you quickly walked to the brick house on the left of yours, and you gave the door a loud knocking. Old Mrs. Marie Vangeller was seventy-two, nearly deaf, and had a glass eye. But she was the sweetest old lady you ever have met (but she was kind of odd, as well…). For no reason at all she would make you and your family things from baked goods to thick, hand-woven blankets. She was like a third grandmother, but was still alive. Your actual grandparents died of old age when you were little.

The brick house was small, probably only a few thousand square feet. The appearance was amazing. The bricks were weathered from years of existence. The door was thick, dark wood with three rectangular windows in a diagonal row, and the knob was made of copper. She didn't have a mailbox next to the curb in her yard. She had a tin mail slot next to the door with the numbers of her address engraved on the front. Instead of a doorbell she had a door-knocker that was shaped like a woodpecker; it was mounted next to the door, with a metal chain hanging from the tail, and when you pulled it, it forced the flattened metal beak of the bird to make contact with the thin metal slab on the brick wall. It had always been your favorite decoration for this home. Mrs. Vangeller used to let you just stand on a chair on her off-white wooden porch and play with the knocker when you were a child. Even now, after all these years the brilliant colors painted on it were still vibrant and beautiful.

After a moment you smiled and grabbed the rusted chain, then tugged it a few times, just for the fun of it. You heard a muffled voice from within the brick walls, and moments later the door opened, revealing a rather short old woman with nearly transparent curly white hair, cheeks that were still plump and drooped a bit, and beady blue eyes. Her back was hunched slightly, and she was forced to walk with her arms bent at almost perfect ninety-degree angles. She was wearing a loose pink flannel shirt and a jean skirt. Her make-up was flamboyant as always; bright turquoise eye shadow and dark red lipstick was decoratively plastered on her face. You could tell she thickly powdered her face to give her skin a lighter shade, or perhaps to cover blemishes that come with old age. She stood in the doorway and squinted at the two of you for a moment.

"Ah, _! What a pleasant surprise, my dear! Eh, is this your boyfriend? It's about time you got a man. And what a hunk, too! He looks very charming, too! I'm proud of you, sweetie!" Mrs. Vangeller grinned kindly, "Why, he reminds me of my darling Joseph. Back in the day he was tall and well-built like you, sonny! Oh, how I miss him…"

All of the blood in your body rushed to your cheeks while Alfred snickered. "N-no, Mrs. Vangeller… He's not my boyfriend. He's an acquaintance. Did you lock my door for me? And I need the spare key, please."

She nodded, to answer your question. "Oh, what a shame. He's a keeper, I tell ya. If you're not already in a relationship, darling, I recommend taking my sweet _ under consideration. She'd make a great spouse, I'm sure. She can cook, normally cleans the house nicely, and she's beautiful. If she takes after her mother, then when the two of you do the 'hankey-pankey'-"

"M-Mrs. Vangeller! Please! May I have the spare key or not?" This could not possibly be happening. Your heart was pounding so hard you were surprised the two of them couldn't hear it. You were used to her saying things that embarrassed you, but it never happened in front of a guy such as Alfred.

"Oh, yes, dear. Let me go retrieve it for you. Come in, come in!" she laughed as she inched her way inside the old home. You walked in with your arms crossed, thoroughly embarrassed, and Alfred was trying to contain his laughter as he followed you inside. Mrs. Vangeller slowly made her way into the kitchen, which was completely made of cherry wood. The cabinets and counters were lighter, while the walls of the kitchen were a dark reddish cherry wood. The floors matched throughout the whole house. The range was made of iron and was built into the wall, with two ovens, one directly above of the other. The gas stove was to the right of it, dingy white in color. Mrs. Vangeller walked through the kitchen until she came upon a thin drawer on the side of one of the counters. Sliding it out, she paused and turned to the two of you. "Would you two like some tea, or perhaps some cookies?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Vangeller. We're kind of in a hurry. Maybe next time?" you quickly said, before Alfred had a chance to even think about indulging himself in cookies.

"Oh, alright, dear." She reached in and pulled out a small black key ring with a few keys on it. "The silver key is yours. Place it in my mail slot when you're done, okay, sweetheart?" she said as she handed it to you.

"Yes, ma'am. See you soon, Mrs. Vangeller." You turned to leave when you heard a gasp. You turned back around to see a very shocked Mrs. Vangeller.

"Deary! What happened to your arm? Did you get into one of those automobile accidents? You know I always told you not to go driving around when those hooligans are about!"

"No, Mrs. Vangeller, I fell. But it's not serious. Thank you for your concern, though." You flashed a smile, to reassure her.

"Thank goodness! I got so worried for a moment there, _. Don't do anything that will give this old lady a heart attack, you hear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Vangeller. I'll try to stay out of trouble."

"Alright, sweetie. You be careful, now."

You smiled and turned, then exited with Alfred closely behind you, he shut the door quietly. "You hear that? She said I'm a keeper! And a _hunk_." he chirped.

"Shut up! Let's just go." Alfred helped you limp through the yard over to your own porch, the blush still plastered on your face. You fumbled with the keys until you located the correct one, then inserted it into the lock. The lock stuck for a moment, but with a good jerk it unlocked and opened with ease. You limped inside with Alfred following behind like a duckling to its mother, looking around and surveying the mess made the previous night. You looked around, expecting to see your beloved furry friend somewhere in the foyer, but he was nowhere in sight. "Maybe he got locked in my bedroom again?" you said aloud.

Alfred couldn't help but wonder what type of dog you had. Considering your personality, maybe a cocker spaniel? Or a border collie, maybe? "Hey, _. What's your dog's name?"

"Killer. But don't worry. He's really a cuddly teddy bear."

You limped past the living room and into the back hallway where the bedrooms were located. Without a doubt, your dog had locked himself up, _again_. You love him, but you'd think that after three years he would have realized that if he is in a room and he pushes the door, it'll close. You could hear him scratching at the door, eager to be reunited with you. You grab the handle and turn it, and before you even have a chance to pull the door toward yourself, it was forced open and a large flash of white bounds out of the room to greet Alfred.

You quickly limped out, ignoring your foot pain. It had become less painful, compared to how much your arm hurt when you broke it. You entered the living room and saw Killer, your Great Pyrenees in fight mode, growling at Alfred, who was standing still, not showing fear of him, but had his eyes widened. He had not expected a dog this size.

Killer was a good forty inches tall. _One full meter_. He was humongous. All of his fluffy coat was snow white, with the exception of the black tips on his floppy ears. His lips and nose were black, brightly contrasting with his fur. His paws were larger than your fist, and his nails were black and brown. His long fur was thick, and measured out to be around six inches long. His sharp teeth were bared, and his snarl was ferocious. He did not like Alfred's presence one bit.

"Killer! No! Sit!" you yelled, and immediately the giant canine looked back and sat down, still snarling at Alfred. "I don't know what's wrong with him. He usually loves people." You walked over and pet Killer, making him calm down and only eye Alfred cautiously. "Will you watch him while I get my stuff? He shouldn't cause any problems. I'll be right back."

You walked away, not really caring what Alfred had to say. You walked into your room and pulled out your suitcase and started cramming it with wads of balled up shirts and pairs of pants after you quickly changed. You were no longer going to be dressed so revealingly around him. You stuffed a pillow in, too. Just in case. Making a quick checklist as you packed, you were soon ready for your stay at Alfred's home. You dragged your small suitcase to the living room and set it against the wall. Then you walked into the kitchen, avoiding clutter from the scramble that happened when your house was invaded, and grabbed a half-filled bag of dog food and Killer's bowls. You then walked back to Alfred, who was in the same spot and position, watching Killer. The dog was staring him down.

"Ready to go?" Alfred asked, looking away from Killer. You nodded, then put your monster of a dog on his leash, and walked out the door, locking it behind the three of you while Alfred carried yours and Killer's things. Killer was excited to be out of the house for so long. He tugged and pulled, sniffed everything, then dragged you into the yard so he could finally do his business. After that, you led him to the back of Alfred's vehicle. Alfred opened the hatch and bent to lift Killer, who was growling at his movement. He stopped, knowing if he touched the dog he might get bitten.

"Killer. Be nice," you scolded. You pointed to the inside of the car. "Get in." Without hesitating, Killer jumped inside the car and laid down. You took his blue leash and collar off of him and kissed his muzzle, which he showed appreciation for with a quick lick to the cheek. Alfred shut the hatch and helped you to your side, and you got in. He put your stuff in the back seats, and entered the driver's seat. He sped out of the neighborhood, no longer wanting to be seen there, just in case someone was watching. Alfred switched on the radio to the rock station. There was a heavy beat, which he tapped the steering wheel to, perfectly in sync. He sang to parts of the song, which you assumed was the only section he knew. You knew most of the song; it had been one of your father's favorites. Oblivious to your own actions, you started humming to the song. Within moments you were singing in harmony with the blonde, laughing when the two of you got the lyrics wrong. To make a game of it all, Alfred began making up lyrics as he went, using his surroundings and the dumbass drivers around him as inspiration.

The ride to Alfred's house seemed to go by quickly, the two of you enjoying the time making parodies to classic rock songs together. He pulled into his driveway, then into his garage. Cutting the engine off, he got out of the car and helped you out. He shut the garage door and opened the hatch, letting your four-legged fluff ball jump out. Killer was overwhelmed with all the different smells. He was immediately already over everything. He _needed _to sniff everything there. Alfred let him wander around the garage while he grabbed all of your things and carried them inside. You limped in as well, and Killer followed, only to be overwhelmed with more new smells. He explored with delight.

You limped into the living room and plopped down onto the couch, moving the clutter out of the way. Alfred walked out with your stuff, not mentioning anything. You wanted to follow, not trusting him to stay out of your things, but you knew it was a wasted effort if you tried. By the time you got to wherever he went, he'd probably already be done searching through everything. Alfred came back a few moments later and said, holding a thumb over his shoulder to point down the hall, "I'm in the middle of getting a room ready for you. I have to find where I put the other bed set."

"Alright," you say dully, looking at the mess circling you on the couch.

"Oh, sorry about all that. I was in a gaming mode. Didn't leave the couch for three days! The next day I went to the pizza parlor to finally eat some good food, and that's when I found you. Never had time to clean it all up." He smiled and left. Killer eventually came around the couch and jumped up next to you, laying down on the mess the blonde had left. You pet him for a while, and he nodded off to sleep. He was such a lazy dog.

About ten or fifteen minutes later, Alfred came back and reached out to grab your hand, which you accepted and pulled yourself up with. The movement bothered Killer's rest, and he awoke. His ears shot back and he began growling softly at Alfred. You turned and shushed the canine, and he stopped, almost.

"Do you want to walk, or would you rather I carry you?" the blonde asked.

"… I can walk, thanks." You were uneasy about the thought of being carried. You still didn't trust this man, as nice as he had been to you. He led you carefully down the hall and to a door right across from the room you woke up in. He grasped the handle and swung open the door to reveal a dainty room, not too big, but not overly small. There was a white dresser along the leftmost wall, and a writing desk of the same shade against the back wall. A queen-size bed drew your attention the most. With a black decorative metal headboard, the bed was garnished with large down pillows and a comforter, all with an "American Flag" theme. The comforter looked like a giant flag, and the left pillow was the blue section with white stars while the right one was the stripes for the thirteen colonies. Part of the comforter was folded over to reveal a dark blue sheet. _Someone_ was patriotic.

"I hope you don't mind this. I couldn't find the white bed set."

"Uh, it's fine. I don't mind." Your eyes were still focused on the bed. You tore your eyes away and looked up at Alfred, whose smile was spread from ear to ear as he looked at the patriotic bed.

Killer sat behind the two of you, staring at Alfred. Every movement he made aroused the dog's suspicion. Out of curiosity, he wedged himself between the two of you to get through the doorway, then jumped up on the bed and rolled around, having a party. Alfred's smile disappeared as his hard work was quickly demolished. The comforter was now wrinkled and the pillows now lay on the wooden floor. Once satisfied, Killer jumped off and shook, then walked out of the room. Alfred was frowning.

"Sorry about that. He's always liked to do that, for some reason. You don't need to fix it. I'll do it," you sighed as you limped over to the mess, and started remaking the bed. A short moment later, Alfred was helping. "I said I can get it."

"I want to help. It just looks pitiful watching you do this, with your arm being crippled and you can't walk to the other side of the bed," Alfred snorted. You gave him a quick, weak punch in the arm with your noncrippled one, and he laughed. You mumbled a few things and resumed making the bed with him.

Alfred led you out of the bedroom, holding your arm to support you, and bought you to the messy living room. "I gotta clean all this up if I'm having company." Alfred disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a garbage bag. He filled it with the soda cans, empty or not. It was not really a waste; if they had soda left in them it was all flat, anyway. He walked outside and tossed the bag into a large garbage bin for the garbage company to pick up and dispose of. He returned and started collecting the games and movies, returning them to their proper location. You stood and watched, feeling awkward but not really able to help, being in your condition. Soon enough the room was spotless and presentable. Alfred sat lazily on the couch and patted the spot next to him, motioning for you to sit as well. After a brief hesitation, you reluctantly sat next to the blonde, a good ten inches separating you.

"Wanna watch a movie?" Alfred asked, really hoping your answer would be 'yes.'

"Sure. What'cha got in mind?" you reply, actually indifferent on the matter. Almost immediately the man stood up and walked to his abnormally large movie collection. On his entertainment stand there was a large compartment about three feet long, ten inches in depth, and was almost as tall as he was. Every shelf of that sucker was packed tightly with DVDs. There were small dividers between each genre, to keep things organized. He stood in front of it and speculated, then selected a few movies to choose from. One was an action/adventure, one a comedy, and a good all action movie that has all the explosions and witty phrases. You settled on the action movie. It was a classic from the late 80's: "Die Hard."

Alfred giddily made popcorn and gathered a few cans of Mountain Dew, Coke, Root Beer, and the like for the two of you to enjoy together. Oh, how he loved this movie. He closed all the blinds and the curtains to dim the room to give it a more theatrical atmosphere. He inserted the DVD and pushed 'play.' From start to finish Alfred stared wide-eyed at the screen, occasionally eating and drinking as he mouthed every line of the movie. You found it quite entertaining to watch him for a few minutes rather than the movie itself.

A smile stretched across his face. "Nine million terrorists in the world and I gotta kill one with feet smaller than my sister." He snickered as he said this aloud in sync with the movie and watched the character, John McClane, go through the scene where he kills a man and takes his shoes. You smiled and ate some popcorn, sipping on your can of soda. You watched the movie.

"Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!" Alfred almost yelled in excitement. He couldn't seem to contain himself during this movie. You attempted to refrain from giggling, but it slipped out. He smiled and looked at you. "What? That was like, the best part of the movie! Well, other than the part where he sets off the detonators. That was pretty sweet."

"Alright," you said, and turned back to the screen. He did the same, and the two of you finished the movie. The credits rolled, and there were still plenty of snacks left. You hadn't even finished off your first can of pop. It was only half empty. Alfred on the other hand, drank three cans already, and was working on his fourth.

"Wanna watch another? I've got all the Die Hard movies, if you'd like to continue with those. I've even got the fifth one. It's not even out in theaters yet." You did enjoy the movie. You looked at the clock. Only three twenty-seven in the afternoon. You've got time. You nodded, and he replaced the first disk with the second one, "Die Harder." This one wasn't as good as the first. But it was still damn good. Alfred knew the lines to this movie, too. However, the only outburst was when John repeated the infamous line, "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker." You were about halfway through with the movie when you heard a loud buzzing sound, and felt a slight vibration in the couch cushion. The strange buzzing caught Alfred's attention and he fished a cellphone out of his back pocket. He squinted at the caller ID and quickly stood and walked out of the room, into the hallway. You grabbed the remote and paused the movie, so he wouldn't miss anything while he was absent. You laid down on the couch and stretched out your body, with the exception of your cast-bound arm. You closed your eyes and waited, and noticed you could hear some of what his conversation was. You didn't want to be rude and eavesdrop, but his voice was kind of hard to ignore. Besides, what if he was speaking about you? Then it kind of becomes your business, right? Yeah. Let's go with that.

"Yes, but… What about her? I can't… Yes, sir. Right. Yes, I will show up… No, I won't be late. Yes, I promise! (Geez, what are you, my mother?) …What? I didn't say anything. Right, boss. Bye!" Alfred returned to the room and you sat up, hearing his footsteps. "That was my boss. He wanted me to remember I have a meeting to go to tomorrow. It's kinda important, so I can't just skip it to hang with you."

"I wasn't expecting you to stay and 'hang' with me. But okay, what time do you have to leave?"

"I have to leave around four in the morning, if I want to arrive there in time."

"Geez! Don't wake me. Just leave a note or something. Or don't. I don't care. Just don't wake me." You said, surprised he had to leave at the butt crack of dawn.

"Um, unfortunately, I'm not leaving you here. You're coming with me. I can't protect you if I'm in a different country! What kind of hero would I be if I left you here alone, where villains could easily get you? A suckish one, if I must say so!" He smiled as he said these words, laughing at the end.

"…Another country?" What kind of job requires short-notice meetings in different countries? You hoped you'd sleep well that night.

* * *

Yay, longer chapter! I liked this during the beginning, kind of, and then I hit writer's block and wrote shit down to get past it, and then it got a little bit better, I think! And I want to thank everyone who favorited, followed, messaged me, and reviewed! I really, really appreciate it! I give you all cyber hugs! -hugs laptop- Love all of you!


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